poetry I wrote with a lipstick
on a mirror ode to the platitude
so it would stay that way with
nothing but a curse on the lips
I saw you in your black silk pyjamas
your eyes full of Asia that resented
the futile pagans we once were
me like a snowflake in leather
and you the red herd
that took the child out of me
over three mountaintops I scattered you
and still youâre not decayed